The Happy Moron

I’m trying out a little game I thought up. The game is to retell a fairy tale or children’s story while omitting one of the major characters.

This is Hansel and Gretel, and we’ve lost Hansel… just not in the woods. This is Part V; Part VI arrives next Monday. Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV.

“Come away with me.” said the knight.

He blurted it. This was a new world he was in, and in the strangeness and the awkwardness, raw honesty took over. He tried to bring the words back as he heard himself speak them, but it was too late. They were out.

“Come away with me.”

They were fantasy words, from a fantasy tale. Gretel stood in shock; the knight was asking her to go with him. She had never even dreamed such a thing, in the tiny world of the cottage, and the clearing, and the witch. A knight, from no-where, stepping from the forest, whisking her away.

But now… she knew things in a way she never had before. She knew she could not go back. She thought of the cottage behind her, and the witch inside, mixing potions… and she was filled with horror. It was… monstrous.

The knight was before her, holding out his hand. His eyes were hopeful, pleading. Gretel suddenly realized that she wanted to go with him, wanted more than anything for him to bear her away, to take her from this dreadful place. She wanted to give in to the fantasy, and she reached out her hand to place it in his.

But something pulled her back, pulled her hand back, mid-stretch. She remembered those awful desperate hours in the woods, seeking for her home, but every time being drawn back to the cottage.

“I can’t.” she said. “I can’t leave these woods.”

The misery of it tore at her and she began sobbing. In an instant her joy and wonder turned to bitterness, for she was trapped. Her was her knight, come to set her free, but… she could not go. It wasn’t fair!

The knight came up beside her and took her hand. He knelt down so he could look up into her downcast eyes.

“I don’t understand.” he said. “Surely it’s not the witch.”

He knew it was a risk to say the word ‘witch’. The last time he had seen the girl and the witch together, the girl had given the hag a kiss and called her “grandmother”. Perhaps in calling the woman a witch he would lose the maiden forever. But Gretel took no offense at the word; she was too devastated.

“I’ve tried.” sobbed Gretel. “I’ve tried and tried to go away, but every time I always find myself back at the cottage. I hate the witch, and I hate the cottage, and I love you so much, but I can’t get away from here.”

It was the knight’s turn to be stunned by unreserved honesty. He had not expected this. But then the words took hold, and registered properly in his mind. He bounced up in pure exuberance.

“But there’s nothing to it!” he cried. “If that’s all, then we must leave at once. There’s nothing special about these woods, I’ve come and gone unhindered once already. If you have been lost in the woods before, it shall not happen again; I know the way. My horse is not far from here.”

Gretel was torn. She wanted to believe, so much it hurt. But could she? Could she really ride to freedom with the knight? Was the promise real? She was afraid.

It was a choice; in all her life she never had the kind of choice she now faced. And Gretel knew she could not choose with only half her heart. She stood on th e threshold of two worlds; if she tried to cling to both she would be torn in two.

The strangest thing happened when Gretel chose. It was not what she expected, but she felt the weight of all her fear and trepidation melt away. As she cast one world away from her, she felt a lightness, a freedom that she had never before felt. And joy!

Gretel flung herself upon the knight, threw her arms around him. “Take me away!” she cried. And then she laughed it, “Take me away!”

The knight was, if nothing else, a man of action, and this was the sort of invitation he did not need to hear repeated. It was with light feet and hearts that the two of them rushed to where the knight had tethered his horse. Alongside the horse lay the knight’s good hound, and perched upon the sadle’s pommel was his hawk.

The knight hoisted Gretel up into the saddle, and was about to mount up himself, when he paused.

“My name is Wilhelm.” he said. “You never told me yours.”

Gretel smiled. “You never asked.” she said. “It’s Gretel.”